This is beautiful Sabrina. I am sending so much love and energy for all of these up and down waves and the massive in between space that's in the "before" and "after." Three years ago I lost two people who were basically my second parents in a very tragic way, so a lot of this resonates for me. "Creativity does not need to be grand. The everyday, mundane, small acts – drawing, weaving, cooking, dancing – can become forms of medicine." I love this, and I also think that grief can manifest like that too - it doesn't always show up in the huge debilitating ways like we might expect, often it's as you put it, discombobulating. Thank you for sharing your words and may your own creative acts, whether they be big or small, create a sense of tethering for you. ❤️
Dear Sabrina, this probably is a masterpiece spurted out of your creative meridian that in crisis becomes a vital component which helps us process our grief. Your words are honest and raw drenched in yearnings and insights. I am still struggling with my father’s cancer journey and nothing has spoken to me of the reality of death as deeply as this piece.
Even if I arrived here late, I’m sending you a warm virtual hug. I know, I just do. Thank you for writing this.
Sad and beautiful and powerful, Sabrina. In your grief and bravery and honesty, you've given so much to us; maybe by extension so has your father. As you well know, in writing and in creativity, we find strength and meaning. It's showing here. So I'm sending you gratitude and warmth.
This is really beautiful, Sabrina. You have a knack for channeling emotion into your creativity in a powerful way. If you'll indulge me for a second, I'd like to say "I'm sorry for your loss" with a caveat.
Days after my father passed away, I was at a party and met a very special individual that I had a really great connection with. We were discussing all kinds of things, but after a while, my father passing was brought up. I didn't try to insert this detail, but I'm so thankful for the conversation that followed. The empathy he showed meant so much to me.
He brought up that condolence: "I'm sorry for your loss" - a very common phrase offered by all to try to put words to something that is at times indescribable. He had lost a niece not long ago at the old age of 9 years old - where he had heard this phrase countless times after.
His relationship to his grief was to instead flip this statement on its head. Gratitude, for what he had. 9 years of life with an incredible person, that he was so fortunate to have known. He then asked me questions about my dad, and what this man had meant to me.
What followed was a lot of sappy things about my father: his vulnerability, his lack of filters, his honesty. Rugged and tough, a man very different from myself but someone I found a lot of pride in having been in his life for 27 years.
My friend then said to me, "How does that feel? To have had something that special for 27 years?"
Tears of joy came pouring at this moment. The feeling of having reframed that feeling around what I had versus what I had lost empowered my grief to instead celebrate death as critical to how powerfully we feel for one another.
I apologize if I have overshared about my own grief, as this is such a beautiful tribute to your own father! But I hope you know that the thoughts you've shared here struck a cord, encouraging some creativity on this beautiful Friday afternoon.
this is so wonderful and moving sabrina. thanks for offering a window on your personal journey of grief. your opening essay is honest and lovely writing. as I moved through the senses, i never felt merely sad or heavy, instead I felt a sort of communal comfort in the approaches our fellow humans take in processing the universal experience of loss and mourning. bravo.
This is beautiful Sabrina. I am sending so much love and energy for all of these up and down waves and the massive in between space that's in the "before" and "after." Three years ago I lost two people who were basically my second parents in a very tragic way, so a lot of this resonates for me. "Creativity does not need to be grand. The everyday, mundane, small acts – drawing, weaving, cooking, dancing – can become forms of medicine." I love this, and I also think that grief can manifest like that too - it doesn't always show up in the huge debilitating ways like we might expect, often it's as you put it, discombobulating. Thank you for sharing your words and may your own creative acts, whether they be big or small, create a sense of tethering for you. ❤️
Dear Sabrina, this probably is a masterpiece spurted out of your creative meridian that in crisis becomes a vital component which helps us process our grief. Your words are honest and raw drenched in yearnings and insights. I am still struggling with my father’s cancer journey and nothing has spoken to me of the reality of death as deeply as this piece.
Even if I arrived here late, I’m sending you a warm virtual hug. I know, I just do. Thank you for writing this.
Sorry about your loss, what a great way to explore it.
Loooove it .
Thank you
Such a great (and heartfelt) piece. Thank you for sharing.
Sad and beautiful and powerful, Sabrina. In your grief and bravery and honesty, you've given so much to us; maybe by extension so has your father. As you well know, in writing and in creativity, we find strength and meaning. It's showing here. So I'm sending you gratitude and warmth.
So very sorry for your loss.
Know that you have crafted something beautiful here in the way you have shared all of these senses with us.
I had not heard of a Marma massage before. I would like to seek one out.
Wishing you all the best.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for using it to spur this beautiful meditation on mourning in its many forms.
Poignant and beautiful, Sabrina.
This is really beautiful, Sabrina. You have a knack for channeling emotion into your creativity in a powerful way. If you'll indulge me for a second, I'd like to say "I'm sorry for your loss" with a caveat.
Days after my father passed away, I was at a party and met a very special individual that I had a really great connection with. We were discussing all kinds of things, but after a while, my father passing was brought up. I didn't try to insert this detail, but I'm so thankful for the conversation that followed. The empathy he showed meant so much to me.
He brought up that condolence: "I'm sorry for your loss" - a very common phrase offered by all to try to put words to something that is at times indescribable. He had lost a niece not long ago at the old age of 9 years old - where he had heard this phrase countless times after.
His relationship to his grief was to instead flip this statement on its head. Gratitude, for what he had. 9 years of life with an incredible person, that he was so fortunate to have known. He then asked me questions about my dad, and what this man had meant to me.
What followed was a lot of sappy things about my father: his vulnerability, his lack of filters, his honesty. Rugged and tough, a man very different from myself but someone I found a lot of pride in having been in his life for 27 years.
My friend then said to me, "How does that feel? To have had something that special for 27 years?"
Tears of joy came pouring at this moment. The feeling of having reframed that feeling around what I had versus what I had lost empowered my grief to instead celebrate death as critical to how powerfully we feel for one another.
I apologize if I have overshared about my own grief, as this is such a beautiful tribute to your own father! But I hope you know that the thoughts you've shared here struck a cord, encouraging some creativity on this beautiful Friday afternoon.
this is so wonderful and moving sabrina. thanks for offering a window on your personal journey of grief. your opening essay is honest and lovely writing. as I moved through the senses, i never felt merely sad or heavy, instead I felt a sort of communal comfort in the approaches our fellow humans take in processing the universal experience of loss and mourning. bravo.
Oh Sabrina - this is a beautiful weaving together of so much that’s hard to express, thank you
This is such a vivid piece, and so well written. The pictures really add to this.
Beautiful. Thank you love ❤️